


Sometimes We Get It Wrong

by Thatsrightmyhype



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 2019 Season, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Available in Russian, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatsrightmyhype/pseuds/Thatsrightmyhype
Summary: Soulmates AU where when your soulmate touches you, you feel a physical sense of warmth and comfort from them. As you can imagine, sometimes things are not entirely straightforward.Pierre turns to Charles, to look at where their hands are intertwined and beams, squeezing the fingers laced between his a little tighter as he feels that warmth flow through him. Everything is perfect.Neither of the boys notice the longing stare from Max, looking down at Pierre’s hand in his and the split-second smile that disappears the moment he realises that the one person he wants the attention of the most is not looking at him.Now available here in Russian: https://ficbook.net/readfic/10032483/25813621
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly/Max Verstappen
Comments: 17
Kudos: 105





	Sometimes We Get It Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translation: https://ficbook.net/readfic/10032483/25813621

Pierre walks up to the podium, beyond ecstatic, his little body vibrating with excitement. He’s just won his first Junior Karting race and he can scarcely believe he’s done it. All the hard work, all the sacrifices he’s watched his family make, all of those things seem worth it to see their faces smiling up at him as he awaits his trophy.

Charles is stood to his left, smiling brightly beside him and Pierre’s heart feels so full, being on the podium together. Maybe now he can dare to dream; the pair of them racing alongside each other for the entirety of their careers, maybe even reaching F1 together, it’s all an actual possibility in his mind right now. To his right stands another boy who he thinks is called Max. They don’t really speak too much, what with Max’s dad shepherding him away from the other kids after races but he seems alright to Pierre.

Of course, everyone seems alright to Pierre.

They share a quick smile, a polite congratulatory nod and then turn back to face the crowd.

The presenter greets Max first, handing him a small trophy and the smile the boy gives him back doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Pierre understands: even if you’re on the podium, your hunger is always for the first place trophy. He greets Charles next and the younger boy beams happily at Pierre, his eyes forming little half-moons and dimples showing at the side of his mouth. The frenchman can’t help but return the smile, feeling just as proud for his friend as he does for himself. Finally, it’s his turn and as he feels the weight of his prize settle in his hands, he knows this is what he was born to do.

Holding his trophy high above his head, he smiles brightly and for once hopes that his mum is taking some photos (even if he’d tell her in an embarrassed voice to stop). Once he’s held it aloft for longer than his exhausted arms can cope, he places it carefully on the podium and, at the instruction of the presenter, takes the other boys’ bare hands so they can give everyone a bow.

That’s when he feels it.

The comforting sense of home is beyond euphoric, filling every inch of Pierre from his head all the way down to the tips of his toes. A calm feeling washes over him, like he’s suspended in the ocean and the warm water is merely lapping at his skin while holding him in place. He’s young but he knows what this feeling is, has heard too many ancient stories and epic tales of romance to be blind to this.

They’re soulmates.

He turns to Charles, to look at where their hands are intertwined and beams, squeezing the fingers laced between his a little tighter. Charles looks at him with the same serene smile he always wears but his eyes seem at peace. He’s happy and so is Pierre. Everything is perfect.

Neither of the boys notice the longing stare from Max, looking down at Pierre’s hand in his and the split-second smile that disappears the moment he realises that the one person he wants the attention of the most is not looking at him.

*

Pierre doesn’t think it’s strange that him and Charles have never been particularly couple-like with each other. They found each other so young and it’s difficult to have these kind of discussions when you’re in-between being a child and a teenager, especially with the two year age gap making the gap in their maturity seemingly more obvious.

Pierre doesn’t mind: he’s been in love with Charles ever since they held hands on that fateful podium and he’ll wait forever if he has to.

He manages to wait until he’s seventeen and Charles is fifteen before he holds hands with the younger man for the first time since they found out they were soulmates. It doesn’t feel quite as electric as the first time but Pierre figures that that’s just how these things work; that the first time is the most intense. He asks Anthoine what he thinks when they’re playing games in their apartment between races and the other man sighs.

“Maybe you just need to kiss him,’ he suggests and Pierre flushes at the mere suggestion, ‘If you’re so in love with him, you need to let him know. You’re soulmates, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Pierre sighs, knowing that his friend is right but his nervous tendencies are taking over. Despite knowing that him and Charles are soulmates, he can’t help but fear rejection.

He manages to kiss Charles when they’re both at a party thrown by one of their older friends. There’s alcohol and Pierre has a few shots for some dutch courage before pulling Charles close and kissing him squarely on the mouth. He knows he’s a little awkward, having never done it before but Charles seems to be a natural, leading the two of them in a way that sends shivers down Pierre’s spine. When they pull away, Charles looks at him with wide eyes.

“Are you sure you want to do this?’ Charles asks and Pierre nods.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,’ he says, leaning back in and pulling Charles to him once more, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s back.

He seems hesitant but every time Pierre goes to pull away, he’s held in place by caressing hands and gentle touches. There’s a tinge of desperation to them and Pierre does his best to reassure Charles that he’s not going anywhere.

As the younger man looks up at him through his lashes, cheeks pink and lips swollen, Pierre thinks that this is the second best day of his life.

*

Charles’ dad passes away and Pierre doesn’t know what to do. He calls and texts and messages but never gets any response. Pierre is a little confused as he knows if he were in that situation, he’d want Charles to be by his side but he respects his soulmate’s wishes and stays away.

When he hears of Charles’ F2 race win just four days later, he tries not to feel hurt.

For the next week whenever he isn’t driving or training, Pierre sits in the apartment and stares at the wall, desperately wishing he could stop the sick feeling swirling in his stomach but he can’t. Why would Charles do that? Pierre wouldn’t do that to him. He thought the whole point of soulmates was that there was a mutual understanding of each other, an innate ability to understand what to do. He just feels set adrift.

On the fifth day of his depressive state, the doorbell rings. Pierre goes to answer it, preparing to tell whoever it is to leave when he opens the door to Charles. He looks tired, bags under his eyes and skin paper thin. He’s been biting his lip again and despite his feelings of hurt and dejection, Pierre can’t help but lift a thumb to run over the ripped skin. He sighs.

“Why do you do this to yourself, eh?’ He asks, pulling Charles inside and into an embrace.

Charles’ hands instantly come up to hold him tight, breath shuddering against where he’s resting his head on Pierre’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know if I should come,’ he says in a tiny voice and once again, Pierre files his feelings of hurt away into a box and focuses on the man in front of him.

“You’re always welcome here,’ he says softly, stroking a hand through Charles’ hair before pulling them towards the sofa and laying him across his body, ‘I’m so sorry Charles.”

Pierre can feel the tears running from Charles’ eyes begin to soak through his t-shirt, the warm dampness the only indicator that the young man is even awake as the rest of his body is so still.  
“You’re the only one who understands me,’ Charles whispers into Pierre’s chest.

Pierre snorts.

“I’m the only one who can put up with you,’ he says in a teasing voice to try and lighten the mood.

Charles lets out a watery laugh, propping himself up against Pierre’s chest and staring into his eyes. Pierre knows he shouldn’t but he feels a sadistic wave of happiness that he’s the only person Charles will be like this in front of. Everyone else knows the smiley superstar, the once-in-a-generation racer. Pierre knows that he cries, that he bites his lip to the point of bleeding, that every now and then he’s a real, human being.

He leans forward and kisses him, tasting salt on his lips and inhaling the small moan in the back of Charles’ throat as if it was oxygen. His feelings are heightened, every part of him where they’re touching feeling as if it’s on fire and he just loves Charles so much.

“Fuck me,’ Charles whispers against Pierre’s lips and the moment cracks.

“What?’ Pierre asks, feeling as if he’s suddenly hit a brick wall, ‘Charles, are you sure you-“

“Yes, please, I need it,’ Charles says, eyes beginning to fill with tears once again and Pierre panics, ‘Please do it Pierre…”

The soft utterance of his name sends a shiver down Pierre’s spine. He knows this isn’t what Charles actually needs right now but he’s writhing on his lap and he can definitely feel an erection pressing up against his thigh. He doesn’t think he’s ever been able to deny anything that Charles wants no matter what.

He presses their lips together again, snaking a hand under the back of Charles’ shirt and gently kneading the flesh there.

“If I do this,’ Pierre asks, leaning his forehead to rest on Charles’ shoulder to avoid looking at his face, ‘Please promise not to leave me in the dark again.”

There’s a quiet that falls over them where the only sounds are the cars outside and the pair of boys panting on the sofa. Eventually, Charles nods.

“I promise,’ he says, leaning in to kiss Pierre again.

Pierre almost attacks his mouth, attempting to pour the week’s worth of desperation and hurt into one kiss. Charles moans loudly, opening his lips and letting Pierre slide his tongue inside, running across his teeth before caressing the dip of skin that he’s been biting. He grinds his hips down against Pierre’s and he’s so hard he can hardly bare it. Without another word, Pierre sits up and hoists Charles with him, legs wrapped around his waist.

Without breaking the contact of their lips, Pierre carries him to the bedroom and closes the door.

*

“Hey man,’ Max greets Pierre, patting him on the shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, ‘Congrats.”

“Ah, thanks Max,’ Pierre replies, rubbing the back of his neck and blushing slightly, ‘It may have taken a little longer than you but I’m glad to get here.”

“You’re always so modest,’ Max says with a kind smile, ‘You are a good driver, why wouldn’t you be here?”

Pierre shrugs and looks away, cheeks definitely pink now, like they are when he gets any form of praise. He knows a lot of people are intimidated by Max and his seemingly blunt demeanour but Pierre has always felt a warmness from him, a kindness radiating underneath that built up exterior. Maybe Pierre just can’t help but get on with everyone he meets.

He hadn’t had much interaction with Max for all the years that they’d been working together now in the junior, feeder and now F1 teams but he seems very different to that little boy he used to race with as a child. He’s more confident, more self-assured and Pierre can’t help that it’s got something to do with hanging out with Daniel for the past few years and the absence of Max’s father at the Grand Prix races.

“Anyway, you ready to get this piece of hell over with?’ Max asks, gesturing to the table in front of a camera where they’ll be filming one of their first promotional videos for red bull as teammates.

“I was born ready,’ Pierre replies and can’t help the full-bodied laugh he lets out at Max’s long-suffering expression.

They finish up the video and Pierre almost feels as if he’s done an ab workout, he’s been laughing so much.

“Do you want to go for a drink?’ Max asks him shyly once they’re away from the camera crew and getting ready to leave.

Pierre hesitates. He wasn’t sure what Charles was going to do tonight, maybe he would want Pierre for company. He’s about to say no when he sees the hopeful, sweet look slip from Max’s face into a fake smile.

“It’s okay if not, I just thought it would be good for us to get to know each other a bit more as teammates. Maybe another time.”

Max starts to walk away but before he can get far, Pierre puts his hand on his shoulder and spins him around.

“No, that sounds like fun,’ he says, smiling widely at Max, ‘Where were you thinking?”

Max grins and Pierre can’t help but join him.

They end up at a low-key bar not far from the factory where Pierre recognises a couple of the staff enjoying a quiet drink. There’s a pool table in the corner and him and Max decide to have a friendly competition that soon turns serious, all their co-workers cheering them on. Pierre finds himself laughing and smiling more than he feels he has done in ages and, once he’s beaten Max (much to the younger man’s disbelief) they take a seat in a quiet booth, away from prying eyes.

“How come we’ve never hung out like this before?’ Pierre asks and Max shrugs, his smile looking a little sad.

“I didn’t think you wanted to hang out with me,’ he replies simply, eyes looking off into the distance while he sips his beer, ‘Not many people do.”

Pierre is a bit taken aback by the other man’s honesty. He’d always thought that he and Max got on but maybe he’s not been giving him the right signals. He places a hand on Max’s clothed arm and the younger man looks at him with a little fear in his eyes.

“Let’s change that,’ he says, picking up his drink once again and clinking it against the other man’s, ‘To new friendships.”

Max rolls his eyes but the little genuine smile is back.

“Cheers,’ he replies and Pierre can’t help but grin.

*

Pierre sits in his driver’s room, head in his hands. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He doesn’t want to see anyone. Well, maybe he wants Charles to stride in, offer him some sassy words of advice like he has been doing all the time since he started driving for Ferrari (Pierre blames Seb, he’s definitely sassy). Unfortunately Charles is still tied up with the media and won’t be done for a while so Pierre guesses he’s stuck with nothing but his own company and tumulus thoughts swirling around his head.

How could Red Bull have dropped him so soon? He’s not been doing absolutely terribly, right? He’s been getting decent results, trying to keep up with Max. Surely they could’ve waited until the end of the season, save him the absolute humiliation of being demoted halfway through.

He feels tears of frustration, anger and hurt gather in his eyes and violently wipes them away, desperately wishing that Charles was there to distract him.

There’s a knock at the door. It sounds hesitant, as if the person behind it had been loitering there for a while beforehand and had finally mustered up the courage. It’s that and the strange swoop of his stomach that make Pierre stand up and answer the door.

Max is behind it, eyes looking at the ground but snapping up to meet Pierre’s when he steps out of the door frame.

“What are you doing here?’ Pierre asks, trying to sound intimidating but the combination of his scratchy voice and red eyes probably do the opposite.

Max’s mouth opens and closes for a few seconds, trying to find the words to say. Pierre merely watches on, aware that the other man is uncomfortable but not caring in the slightest.

“I’m sorry,’ Max says eventually, ‘I tried to talk to Marko, I swear but-.”

“Oh great, I’m so glad you tried to talk to him Max,’ Pierre cuts in, anger building inside his chest in a way that he hasn’t let happen ever before, ‘I bet they really took the great Max Verstappen’s word into account when they kicked me out!”

Max’s face flushes red but he’s not backing down that easily.

“I’m trying to be nice you arsehole,’ he replies, hands shaking at his sides, ‘I didn’t want you to leave, I think you’re a great driver! But if that’s your opinion of me, fine, I’m the dickhead.”

Max begins to walk away and Pierre’s anger instantly deflates as he watches his back.

“Look, Max, I’m sorry, I-.”

“No, you’re right Pierre,’ he says, turning around one last time and he’s got a few small tears in his eyes, ‘I thought you were different but…you’re the same as everyone else.”

Pierre feels his blood turn cold under his skin as he watches Max scoff one more time before walking away from him, fists clenched at his sides. He re-enters his drivers room, his body thrumming with adrenaline at the fight. Why did he say something like that to Max? Absolutely none of this is his fault. He sits back down, resuming his position of resting his head in his hands and waits for Charles to call.

*

Pierre stares out at the helmet on the pedestal, feeling numb. He’s already cried too much but looking towards Anthoine’s mother and brother, he can’t help but feel his eyes watering again. How could this have happened? No-one deserves that fate but the person who deserved it the least was his best friend, his confidante, one of the only people he could ever trust.

Once the speeches are finished, Pierre walks forward, breaking the driver’s circle and placing a hand on top of the helmet. He whispers his goodbye and turns around, needing to be alone.

He sees Charles reach for him out of the corner of his eyes but he can’t face those big sad eyes right now. He just needs to take a moment. Charles seems to understand that and backs off, leaving him to walk away alone.

He’s just about to enter his driver room when there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not ready for company yet Charles,’ he says softly, voice devoid of emotion.

“What if I’m not Charles?’ Asks an equally quiet voice.

Pierre turns around and finds himself facing Max Verstappen. His mouth is set in a hard line but his eyes are soft and understanding. They haven’t really spoken since their fight, merely skirting around each other whenever they have to interact at Red Bull still but Pierre sees the longing to make things right in Max’s eyes whenever they meet. He sees it because he knows it’s a reflection of himself.

“Hey,’ Max says quietly and gives Pierre a small smile, pulling him from his dumbstruck state.

“Hi,’ Pierre replies, not quite managing a smile back but the seemingly permanent frown melts away from his expression.

There’s a silence between them but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it’s the most of peace Pierre has felt in a while. Eventually though, he has to say something.

“I’m sorry about our fight,’ Pierre says, finally finding the courage he’s been looking for for so long, ‘I really didn’t mean it. I took all my anger out on you and…it wasn’t fair. At all.”

“I’m sorry too,’ Max says, ‘I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. You’re a really good guy Pierre.”

“You too,’ Pierre says, reaching out to squeeze Max’s shoulder in a mirror image.

Max has a pained smile on his face, as if he has something else to say. Pierre raises an eyebrow and Max lets out a huff of air, shaking his head.

“I better go,’ he says, dropping his arm and clenching his hands into fists by his side, ‘But I’m glad we can be friends again.”

“Me too,’ replies Pierre, smiling brightly, ‘See you at the race superstar!”

Max rolls his eyes but walks away with a smile.

As soon as Pierre enters his room, his emotions seem to come crashing down on him all at once: relief at making up with Max, anxiety about the race and finally, the devastating wash of grief once again that his friend is no longer by his side.

*

Pierre is halfway through a meeting with Franz when he gets a call from Charles. He furrows his eyebrows, wondering what’s wrong: Charles never, ever calls him. It’s always text messages because he despises calling people. Franz sees that he’s distracted and lets them all go for a ten minute break. Pierre looks at him gratefully as he stands up, immediately pressing the answer button before he’s even through the door.

“Charles? What’s wrong, are you alright?’ He asks, panic setting in.

“Pierre, oh my God,’ Charles answers and although he sounds happy, Pierre is still on high alert, ‘I did it, I finally did it.”

“Did what?’ Pierre asks, feeling a little sick with anticipation.

“I found my soulmate,’ Charles says.

There’s a long pause where Pierre blinks at the wall several times in confusion.

“I know,’ Pierre says slowly, wondering if maybe Charles is drunk.

He tries to work out the time in Monaco compared to Italy before he remembers they’re in the same time zone.

“What?’ Charles asks, sounding equally confused now, ‘How did you know already?”

There’s another long pause and Pierre is seriously beginning to feel like he’s missing something.

“Because it’s me,’ he says quietly, tilting his voice a little at the end in an almost-questioning tone.

More silence. Eventually, he hears a quiet sigh on the other end.

“Pierre, we’re not soulmates,’ Charles says as if it pains him to say it, ‘I don’t know why you think that but Dan is my soulmate. We…we just found out today.”

Pierre is aware that he’s not breathing but he doesn’t think he can. His chest is so tight and his vision is blurring and all he wants to do is rewind time five minutes so he can carry on living without taking this phone call.

“But…but why did you kiss me?’ Pierre says quietly, trying to muddle through his thoughts and finding that terrifying one as the first to come to mind, ‘Why did you let me fuck you if you didn’t think we were soulmates?”

“I…I thought we were friends with benefits,’ Charles says, voice small, ‘I always felt so lonely and you were always there for me, I didn’t think…God, Pierre, please, I’m so sorry.”

Pierre can hear Charles crying on the other end of the line, understands his sniffled apologies as if they’re a second language now but he can see everything slotting into place. He finally understands why it was never something they talked about. Pierre had always assumed so many things, like Charles was just waiting or he was unsure about how their relationship would affect their careers.

Pierre’s heart breaks in his chest.

“Do you remember my first podium?’ Pierre asks, interrupting Charles’ almost incoherent babbling apologies, ‘When we…when we held hands for the first time, I felt it. I know I felt it.”

“Pierre,’ Charles starts, ‘I didn’t feel anything.”

There’s a long period of quiet where the only noise Pierre hears is Charles’ sniffles and whimpers on the other end of the line. Eventually, he hangs up, slipping his phone in his pocket and flexing his fingers where he hadn’t realised how tightly he grasped the device.

“Are you ready Pierre?’ Franz asks, walking up behind him and placing a careful hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sick,’ Pierre replies, ‘I…I need to go home.”

“Pierre, you can’t just-.”

“Please,’ Pierre begs, turning around and watching his team principal’s face morph from mild annoyance to fatherly concern, ‘I…I have to go.”

Franz nods, giving him a weak smile.

“Take the day off and let me know how you feel tomorrow,’ he says, patting him on the back before walking back into the meeting.

Pierre exhales and turns away, making sure to grab all his stuff from the office before walking out of the door, ignoring all the concerned looks he gets on his way. He drives home, hardly daring to think in case it distracts him from driving. He gets out the car, unlocks the front door and steps inside. Carefully toeing off his shoes, he makes his way through the silence, reaching his bedroom and sitting down on the bed.

Before he can do anything else, there are tears welling up in his eyes. He tries to make them stop, furiously rubbing at them but it’s not happening. He can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, non-stop calls and messages from Charles flooding his inbox but he ignores them. In the end, he gives up on ending the stream of tears and instead allows himself to sob. He cries for the loss of comfortable friendship and gentle kisses, of afternoons spent watching shitty films and merely enjoying each others company but most of all, he mourns the loss of their future.

He cries until he can’t cry anymore and when that happens, he rolls up under his duvet and falls asleep, emotionally and physically exhausted.

Three hours later, he blearily sticks his head out of the sheets, feeling thankful when he sees that it’s still light outside. Stretching, he goes to check his phone and sees there’s hundreds of missed messages from both Charles and Dan that make him feel sick just thinking about them. He does however see a text message from Max.

He opens it and sees he’s been sent a video of a dog skateboarding and can’t help the watery bark of laughter that escapes him. ‘Thought you would like this’ is all Max has said and through his watery smile, Pierre suddenly has a thought. A lightening quick thought that he’s never considered before but he knows he won’t stop thinking about it now it’s entered his brain. He clicks on Max’s name and presses call, anxiously waiting for the other man to pick up. He’s about to give up when he’s finally answered.

“Hey mate, everything alright?’ Max asks, voice light but with an edge of concern.

Pierre gulps.

“I liked that video you sent me,’ he says and he can almost hear Max smiling over the phone.

“Good, I hoped you would,’ he says and there’s a beat of quiet before he cautiously asks, ‘Is everything okay?”

Pierre summons his bravery once again. He needed it when he had to apologise to Max before. He needs it again.

“Do you remember my first podium? When we were in junior karting?’ He asks, ‘I think Charles came second and you came third?”

There’s total silence on the other end of the line. Max isn’t even breathing and Pierre feels like that’s confirmation enough.

“Max,’ he starts slowly, ‘Are…are we soulmates?”

“We…I…,’ Max answers, voice small and Pierre feels a surprised bubble of laughter erupt from his throat.

“All this time,’ he says quietly, ‘The whole time I thought it was Charles. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you didn’t want me,’ Max says, voice so quiet and soft Pierre would have doubted he’d hear it if he wasn’t pressing the phone so close to his ear, ‘I looked at you and you were looking straight at Charles. I thought maybe…maybe it was one-sided.”

“Oh Max,’ Pierre says, heart aching for all the pain he’d unknowingly managed to put his soulmate through, ‘Where are you now?”

“I’m at home in Monaco,’ he says, voice confused, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you before Pierre, it’s just-.”

“Hey, no, I don’t want to have this discussion with you over the phone,’ Pierre says, voice stern but teasing, ‘I’m going to come and see you and we’ll have it face-to-face like adults, yes?”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were so bossy,’ Max says, voice a little lighter, ‘But are you sure?”

“Definitely sure,’ he says, picking up a holdall with one hand and keeping his phone close with his other, ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*

Pierre is stood outside of Max’s door, breath coming out in heavy pants and heart hammering in his chest. It only took him four hours to fly here (during which time he wrote a very apologetic email to Franz about how he wouldn’t be in for the next few days and how he’d make it up to him) but now he’s in the place where he needs to be, he finds he can’t quite push himself to knock. Max let him in the building, he knows that he’s here. Pierre lets out an amused huff at the idea of both of them standing on each side of the door, waiting for the other to make a move.

Pierre finally raises his hand to knock on the wood just as Max opens the door. They both look surprised to see each other.

Pierre enters the flat, walking through to where he assumes the living room will be to dump his bag. Max follows him and, once Pierre turns around, they both stare at each other. There’s a definite tension in the air that’s broken when Max makes his way forward until they’re so close their toes are nearly touching. He looks up at Pierre with such softness and vulnerability in his eyes that the older man isn’t sure how he missed it before.

Ever so slowly, Pierre raises a hand to Max’s cheek, stopping when it’s a mere centimetre from touching the skin. Max is still staring at him, urging him with his expression to make the last move. Pierre summons his courage and moves his hand to lightly caress the blushing cheek in front of him.

He lets out a loud exhale as their skin makes contact and that distant memory of warmth, home and comfort comes rushing to the forefront of his brain. Every nerve inside him is singing and he sighs as he lifts his other hand, cupping Max’s face in a way to get the most skin contact as possible. Max whimpers and covers Pierre’s hands with his own, the little noises of happiness amplified in the scarce space between them.

“I’ve been waiting for so long,’ Max says, a tear falling from each of his eyes as Pierre presses their foreheads together, ‘I thought I could be happy being friends but…this is what I wanted.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long,’ Pierre replies, trying to pour those emotions into the bond between them, ‘I’m so, so sorry.”

They’re quiet for a moment, both reflecting on wasted time between them and what could’ve been. Max tilts his head up a little bit, looking through his eyelashes at Pierre. His eyes flick down to plump lips and he licks his own in anticipation. Pierre leans forward, gulping nervously before pressing their mouths together. He knows he lets out an embarrassing noise but he can’t help it when the feelings of happiness threaten to overwhelm him with their intensity. As they break apart, Pierre lets out a giggle. Max frowns at first but soon joins in and before long, they’re both hysterically laughing, Pierre picking Max up by the waist and spinning him around in ecstasy.

Pierre knows they have a lot of catching up to do but he can’t wait to begin this journey with Max. With his soulmate.

*

He’s done it. He actually managed to hold Lewis Hamilton at bay and now Pierre officially has a podium to his name.

And one of the best things is that he gets to share it with Max.

He patiently waits for his trophy to be handed to him, not being able to help holding it over his head and yelling at his teammates in celebration before they can all start spraying the champagne. He watches with pride as Max is handed his trophy, the pair of them grinning from ear to ear as they look at each other. Once the anthems have been heard and the music starts playing, Max is spraying champagne all over him. He holds his arms out, welcoming the taste of victory and unable to stop the immense sense of pride washing over him along with the bubbles.

The spraying stops and Pierre opens his eyes, seeing Max looking at him with the fondest expression. He walks forward, taking the younger man’s hand and feeling that familiar spark of warmth flow through him once again.

This time, stood on the podium after a victory, there’s no mistaking it. Pierre and Max are soulmates.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed that! Just a little soulmates story I came up with while waiting for the bus and managed to power through writing in a few hours! Any feedback/comments/kudos are massively appreciated and I am always looking for constructive criticism!
> 
> Absolutely massive thank you to crazy_jelly who translated this story into Russian! You did an absolutely incredible job and made me so happy!
> 
> Have a great day and thanks for reading!


End file.
